Time stretched interminably. Smoke from the tallow candles made Anna’s throat raw. They would run out by tomorrow at the rate they were using them, but she must have light! Lying in the dark with nothing to occupy her but her own thoughts—that was the most frightening prospect of all.
Choked by anxiety, she ate next to nothing; blinded by fear, she read the same lines five times but gleaned no sense from them. Lewis had been sweet to bring the books, but he’d wasted his time.
Putnam had sat her down after they arrived in Leeds and insisted she learn some basic sewing. She had gained a certain tolerance for it, even found it relaxing on occasion, but today was impossible. First, she sewed a sleeve shut, and then she pricked herself, leaving red dots on the cheap white lace of a collar. Mostly she confined her efforts to minor repairs. How could she bear to make clothing for a baby that would be gone so soon?
Putnam brought her more tea. How many cups was that? How many pains? How many hours since the midwife had left, and how many minutes ’til she returned? How long could this go on before she went mad? And once the baby was born, how long before she must say goodbye?
Thank God for Putnam’s company, and for her patience. While the cramps lasted, she brought cool cloths for Anna’s forehead. In between she talked. Of her family, her childhood in Leeds when the factories were merely a glimmer, of springtime in Yorkshire, of nothing at all. Anna didn’t always listen, but the voice comforted her.
The wind must have shifted. They heard the bells ring and both of them stilled, counting. Twelve.
“It can’t be!” Anna cried. “It must be three, at least!”
Mrs. Milledge came and examined her again. “There’s progress, but not much. First births are always slow.”
Still the day dragged on. Anna spent half the afternoon on her feet, a few minutes at a time, hoping the child’s own weight would hurry things along. Perhaps it worked; the spasms came closer, sharper, and lasted longer, grabbing her like a vise around the belly and making her gasp. Another part of her penance for reckless stupidity. Not the longest, the last, or the most painful part—all that would come After. After she left.
Anna took to her bed.
Some time later, when daylight had faded to darkness behind the window curtains, Mrs. Milledge arrived with two bags full of supplies. Anna saw rags, a roll of muslin and another of string. A knife. Her heart settled into a frightening rhythm, fast and hard. God help me, this is real.
The midwife examined her again. “Eh, ’twon’t be long now. Mrs. Putnam, if there’s aught you need to do elsewhere, best get it done. We’ll need your help.”
Anna cast a desperate glance at Putnam and saw her own fear reflected in the woman’s eyes. She tried for a smile but couldn’t manage it.
She was aware of Putnam’s return, of hands holding her, manipulating her. Wetness between her legs, a cool cloth to her face. Searing pain and a strip of something between her teeth…leather, the midwife had mentioned that. Words flowed by without meaning. Screams… Were they hers?
Minutes or hours later, she heard a faint cry, like the mewing of a kitten. “A perfect baby girl.” No, it’s supposed to be a boy! Someone brought a bundle to the bedside.
She turned away. If she didn’t see it, maybe it didn’t exist. Merely another nightmare.
The bundle was laid in the crook of her arm, so light it might have been bare bones, like the apparition from her dream. Shaking with fear, she peeked, but could not see through her tears.
Long past dark on the second evening after leaving Bristol, Lewis arrived at the Rose and Crown in Leeds. He stayed only long enough to deposit his bag and those all-important documents, wash his face and change his cravat.
On the way north the sparkle of anticipation had lost ground to apprehension. How would Anna receive his news?
He set off for Vicar Lane through a biting wind. Her door scraped across a compacted layer of old snow in the narrow alleyway as Lewis dragged it open. Holding his breath, he felt his way up through the familiar stench of the stairwell.
Putnam answered his knock. “Why, Mr. Aubrey,” she said in surprise and pleasure. Anna was nowhere in sight and her door was closed.
“Is all well, Putnam?” The room felt stifling after coming in from the cold—at least they were keeping it warm.
“Well enough,” she replied, taking his greatcoat. “With room for improvement.” A roll of her eyes did nothing to clarify her statement.
“What does that mean?” He frowned, following more slowly as she bustled over to the fireplace. She reached down into some sort of box, half-hidden by a chair, and straightened with a bundle in her arms.
He froze in place. That box was a cradle. And the bundle was a baby.
He’d known it was possible, of course he had. Yet he had failed to prepare himself in any way.
“Come and see,” Putnam said.
He stared down at the little face nestled in the blanket, serene and pink-cheeked. The bundle gave a jerk, the mouth contorted, and the eyes opened. Some indeterminate color between gray and blue. Thank God, not Gideon’s eyes. Lewis jumped when Putnam spoke.
“It feels like I birthed her myself, I’m that proud. The most beautiful bairn I ever did see.” Her voice quivered with emotion.
So did his, though he had no name for it. He’d never felt it before. “When did it… When was it born?”
“Three nights past. ’Twas early, but mercifully the babe is healthy.”
Three nights past. While he was in Bristol, celebrating the windfall he had won from her father.
“And Anna? Is Anna all right?”
“Aye,” said Putnam. Her voice held a note of caution.
Lewis looked up from the child, anxiety flaring. “However?”
After a glance toward the bedroom door, she went on more softly. “She’s recovering well enough, but her spirits are low, there’s no denying.” Putnam’s brow puckered with worry. “Except for the feedings, she won’t spend any time with the babe, which is what she needs. What they both need. ‘For what purpose,’ says she, and then it’s like she’s not here anymore. She doesn’t talk, she doesn’t cry. She won’t even think about names. She only eats because I sit her up and won’t let her lie down until she does. Now you’re here, I hope—”
Anna called Putnam’s name. She sounded weak.
His heart gave a jolt. “May I—”
“Oh, not without warning. I must go to her.” She thrust the baby his way. “You hold her.”
He put up his hands, palms forward, and retreated a step. “God no. I can’t. I’ll drop it.”
“Of course you can. Just cross your arms like I’m doing.”
Her arms were hidden by the bundle they held. He took a guess.
“That’s right. Now rest her head in the crook of your elbow, like that. Only remember to support her head. I’ll be back in a jiffy.”
He opened his mouth to protest but she was gone, whisking herself through the door and closing it again. He scowled after her. The baby moved and made an incomprehensible, alien sound, arching its back against his supporting arm. Was he holding it wrong? Was it going to roll out of his grasp and break on the floor? Surely he was capable of handling this tiny thing. It couldn’t be so different from a puppy.
Except it was. It felt…
No, Putnam said her. A girl. A daughter. Like Anna or Cassie. Like Kate and Barbara Redfern.
He adjusted his hold and the baby relaxed. She yawned, showing him her toothless gums. Wriggling within her blanket, her face screwed up in discomfort or annoyance.
Lewis chuckled. “Ho there, baby girl. Putnam might not think you so beautiful wearing that expression.” He discovered he could hold her on one arm, freeing the other hand to touch her cheek, her forehead.
“But I do,” he whispered. “You’re the most beautiful girl I know, except for your mama.” She stared back at him with fierce concentration as though trying to understand.
He stilled as raised voices sounded from the bedchamber. No, one raised voice—Anna’s.
He lifted his gaze to the plain, uninformative surface of the door. He couldn’t distinguish the words, didn’t suppose he wanted to.
She was determined to be difficult. Well, that would change when he told her.
“I’d best not expect a miracle.”
“Unh,” said the child.
“She’s not likely to throw herself into my arms and proclaim her everlasting devotion.”
“Nguh” came next, on an irritated upward inflection that sounded like a question.
“Too much anguish, I’m afraid. She’s been flayed until she’s raw and bleeding. It’s going to take a little time. We must be patient, baby girl.”
The baby twisted and stiffened, opened her mouth and cried. Not loud, at first, but rising to a high-pitched wail that made him thrill at Putnam’s return.
From the look on her face, he would not be seeing Anna tonight. “She’s got the wee one to feed, and she’s plumb exhausted. Come tomorrow, not too early. I’ll get her ready.”
He hoped he could muster more patience than Anna’s daughter.